"What's your name?" Chrysalis asked him.

She spoke in a cultured British accent, which would have surprised Brennan if he hadn't already exceeded his surprise quotient for the evening. Her voice had grown thoughtful, her expression seemed calculating.

"Yeoman," Brennan said, wondering how open he could afford to be.

"Interesting. Its not your real name, of course." Brennan looked at her silently.

"Would you like to know it?" her companion asked. Fortunato smiled lazily and she shrugged and smiled back noncommittally.

Fortunato looked at Brennan. 'His eyes grew deeper, darker. Brennan sensed a swirling vortex of power growing in them, power he suddenly realized was directed toward him.

He flashed with anger, his fists clenching, and he knew that he couldn't keep the spore-given ability of Fortunato from penetrating into the core of his brain. There was only one thing he could do.

He took a deep breath, held it, and let all thought drain from his mind. He was back in Japan again, facing Ishida, trying to answer the riddle the roshi has posed him when he had first sought entry to the monastery.

"A sound is heard when both hands are clapped. What is the sound of one hand clapping?"

Wordlessly Brennan had thrust forth one hand, clasped into a fist. Ishida had nodded, and Brennan's training began in earnest. He called upon that training now. He entered deeply into zazen, the state of meditation where he emptied himself of all thought, feeling, emotion, and expression. A timeless time passed and, as if from a long distance away, he heard Fortunato mutter, "Extraordinary" and he brought himself back.

Fortunato looked at him with a modicum of respect in his eyes. Chrysalis watched them both carefully.

"You're into Zen?" Fortunato asked.

"A humble student," Brennan murmured, his voice sounding even to him as if coming from a distant mountain peak.

"Maybe I'd better speak to Yeoman alone," Chrysalis said. "If you want." Fortunato stood.

"A moment." Brennan shook himself like a dog shedding water and returned entirely to the room. He looked at Fortunato. "Don't do that again."

Fortunato pursed his lips, nodded. "I'm sure we'll meet again."

He left the table, threading his way through the crowded room.

Brennan took his chair as Chrysalis gazed at him with what seemed to be a calculating expression.

"Strange that I haven't heard of you before," she said. "I've just come to town."

Her gaze had become penetrating, captivating. It was with some effort that Brennan pulled his gaze away from her eyes floating naked in their hollow sockets.

"On business?" she asked. Brennan nodded and she sipped her drink, sighed, put her glass down. "I can see that you're not in the mood for small talk. What do you want of me?"

"Your bartender," he began. "How does he get along so well without eyes?"

"That's an easy one," Chrysalis said with a smile. "I'll give it to you for free. Sascha's a telepath, among other things. Don't worry. Whatever secrets you're hiding behind your mask are safe. He's a skimmer. He can only read surface thoughts. Makes his job easier, makes the Crystal Palace safer. He tells Elmo who the dangerous, the sick, the twisted, are. And Elmo gets rid of them."

Brennan nodded, feeling a little safer. He was glad to learn that the bartender's ability was limited. He didn't like the thought of anyone poking about in his brain.

"What else?" Chrysalis asked.

"I need to know about two men. A man named Scar and his boss, Kien."

Chrysalis looked at him and frowned. At least, the muscles of her face bunched up. Like her bodily musculature, they looked wispy, insubstantial, as if that which made her flesh and skin totally invisible affected them to the point of translucency.

"You know that they're connected? That's something maybe only three people outside their own circle know. Are they friends of yours?" Sudden anger blazed across Brennan's face and she flinched. "No. I guess not."

Her words brought to life memories of treachery and violence. Sascha turned his blind gaze to their corner. Elmo stood on tiptoes, craning his thick neck. Around the room half a dozen people fell silent. One man clutched his temples and fainted dead away. He whimpered like a whipped dog as the others at his table tried to bring him out of his trance. Chrysalis broke her gaze from Brennan's, waved Elmo off, and the tension began, slowly, to dissipate.

"They're dangerous, both of them," she said calmly. "Kien's Vietnamese, an ex-general. He showed up about, oh, eight years ago. He quickly insinuated himself into the drug trade and now owns a large share of it. In fact, he has his fingers in most other illegal activities in the city, while maintaining a facade of solid respectibility. Owns a string of dry-cleaning establishments and restaurants. Donates to the proper charities and political parties. Gets invited to all the big social events. Scar's one of his lieutenants. He doesn't report directly to Kien. The general keeps himself well insulated."

"Tell me more about Scar."

"Local boy. I don't know his real name. He's called Scar because of the strange tattoos he's had smeared all over his face. They're supposed to be Maori tribal markings."

Brennan must have looked incredulous because Chrysalis shrugged. He watched muscles shift and bones rotate in their sockets. The nipple of her exposed breast bobbed up and down on its pad of invisible flesh.

"He supposedly got the idea from an anthropologist from NYU. who was studying his street gang. Something about urban tribalism. Anyway, he's one mean dude. He's Kien's chief muscle. Unbeatable in a fight." She gazed at him shrewdly. "You're going up against him."

It was a statement, not a question.

"What makes him unbeatable?"

"He's an instantaneous teleport. He can vanish quicker than anyone can move and reappear anywhere he wants to. Usually behind his opponent. He's also mean as hell. He could be big stuff, but he likes to kill too much. He's content with being one of Kien's lieutenants. Not that he does badly for himself." She toyed with her glass for a moment, then looked directly at Brennan. "Are you an ace?"

Brennan said nothing. Their eyes locked for a long moment and then Chrysalis sighed.

"You have nothing. You're just a man. A nat. What makes you think you can take Scar?" she repeated.

"As you said, I'm a man. He's kidnapped the daughter of a friend of mine. I'm the only one left to go after her."

"The police?" Chrysalis began reflexively, then laughed at her own suggestion. "No. Scar, through Kien, has enough police protection. I take it you have no solid evidence that Scar has the girl? No. What about one of the other aces? Black Shadow, Fortunato perhaps…"

"There's no time. I don't know what he's doing to her. Besides"-he stopped for a moment and looked back ten years, "this is personal."

"So I suspected."

Brennan drew his gaze back into the room. He stared hard at Chrysalis.

"Where can I find Scar?"

"I'm in the business of selling information and I've already given you plenty for free. That tidbit will cost you."

"I have no money."

"I don't need money from you. I do you a favor, you do me one."

Brennan scowled. "I don't like being in anyone's debt."

"Then find your information elsewhere."

The need to be doing something was burning in Brennan. "Very well."

She took a sip of her liqueur and regarded the crystal goblet, held in a hand whose flesh was as clear as the goblet itself.

"He has a big place on Castleton Avenue, Staten Island. It's isolated and fenced in and sits on extensive grounds. He likes to hunt. Men."

"He does?" Brennan asked, his gaze thoughtful, considering.

"Why did Scar kidnap this girl? Is she special in any way?"